


Great White

by assmanMcsuck



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Case Fic, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-18 10:22:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29732430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/assmanMcsuck/pseuds/assmanMcsuck
Summary: An old friend of Dean's contacts him about a vengeful spirit that's been terrorizing a park in New York for decades -- one that Dean himself had stopped, years ago. Sam and Dean head to New York to clean up Dean's mess.(This summary will likely change, depending on what course the story takes. It's based off of Netflix summaries/synopses.)
Kudos: 2





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Basing this off of Supernatural episodes, obviously. It's based off of actual folklore. Takes place between Season 4 and Season 8 -- once I determine the exact one it takes place in, I'll put it in the tags.

Rochester, New York  
Durand Eastman Park

A chubby man, in his late 30's to early 40's, is pictured taking a jog. Said man is clad in sweatpants and a thin t-shirt, accompanied by tight-laced, double-tied tennis shoes. He passes by a wooden sign labeled _'Durand Eastman Arboretum -- County of Monroe'_ , the _'County of Monroe'_ shrouded by a healthy, lush variety of yellow flowers, white flowers, as well as the occasional missed weed -- though even more shrouded by the thick fog.

His forehead is drenched in sweat. The man stops, grabbing his knees, huffing and puffing to catch his breath. Each exhale is cold and nigh-visible in front of him. Due to the murkiness surrounding him, he fails to notice. With a stubborn, determined look on his face, he stands back up and continues on his jog, his belly jiggling with the force of his steps -- he visibly winces, but he continues on with his obstinate ways. Still, stopping now would be a waste. He'd already jogged so far. Brows furrowed, he pushes onward.

The white noise of crickets and trees rustling, previously ignored, began to flood his senses. His back hunched and quivered with the overstimulating mix of paranoia, anxiety, fear; hell, pretty much any negative feeling he could be experiencing right now, it was attempting to make its presence known. It made him jog faster. He was running now. Trying to get away from something. He didn't know what he was running away from -- all he knew was that he was running. 

He then realized that he couldn't stop.

The adrenaline, the fear, the paranoia, it spiked. He began screaming. "Help me! God, oh _God _, hear my prayers! Please! Anybody, any _one _, please! Help! HELP!"____

Yelling.

_Begging. ___

____

For mercy -- for assistance, perhaps. For God to come down to Earth, _oh _, how he hoped, and for Him to save one of His creations. One that worshipped Him, one that went to church every Sunday. The man continued to scream, his voice raising more and more in urgency. Through the haze, he saw the blurry outline of a tree. The wind only blasted past his body faster. His legs only sped up. The man paid it no mind, but his shoes were untied. He was only focusing on the tree. He was just now noticing the low branch, seemingly pointing straight at him. It looked like he was breathing out pure clouds, at this point. All of his hairs were on end. Muscles strained more than they were ever meant to strain.__

Just as he was bracing himself, just as he shut his eyes hard, set his jaw, flared his nostrils, he stopped.

It was a miracle.

Then, he realized; his shoelaces were tied together. They were slowly being cut in half by a rock in front of him. His legs were numb, but he could tell that they were still moving. He stared down in horror. He tried. He really did. His voice was raw, he could barely even scream for help anymore.

The shoelaces snapped.

He ran straight into a branch. 

He _screamed._

Blood splattered behind him. Under him. All across his shirt, all across his face, all across his sweatpants, all across his shoes. The tree branch was decorated with his guts.

The air was impossibly chillier.

A woman wearing a long white dress, with a look of anger and sorrow on her transparent face, disappears.


	2. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Winchesters begin their trek to New York.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The vengeful spirit that Sam and Dean are hunting down is a lady in white, similar to the lady in white in Season 1, episode 1, Pilot.  
> I read up on it a bit, and I found this article, though I'm not sure if it's accurate, or even a real story.
> 
> https://americanfolklore.net/folklore/2010/07/the_white_lady.html
> 
> There's also a Wikipedia article on white ladies, or ladies in white. In this story, she will be addressed to as 'The White Lady', as boring as that is.
> 
> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/White_Lady
> 
> Also, one more thing -- Alyssa Julius is a purely fictional character, not based off of anybody or anyone. Her last name is caffeine in Latin, according to Google Translate. It seems like an actual last name, though I am reminded of an Orange Julius. Those are good. If you've never had one, you should try 'em. They're usually in food courts in malls.

Milwaukee, Wisconsin  
6 Hours Later

Sam massaged his temple, hunched over on the ratty, suspicious-smelling couch. The motel that him and Dean had decided on, or rather, the motel that was closest and cheapest to the two, really didn't live up to its so-called four stars.

"Alright, alright. Explain to me again, one more time, why we're heading to New York?"

"No, explain to _me_ why you're so set on not going there," Dean rebutted, his arms crossed, his jaw clenched, and his frowning lips pouting immaturely.

"Because we're in _Wisconsin_ , Dean," Sam exclaimed, metaphorical feathers definitely ruffled. Rightfully so. The sun had barely even begun to rise. "We've gone on longer road trips before, sure, but we just got done with that incredibly disturbing, uh, infant asylum fiasco," he curved his lips down and shivered for effect. "I don't know about you, but I'm gonna be having nightmares for _weeks_. We deserve a few days off, and so does Bobby. From us, at least. Let's try getting a better motel. I know Alyssa, and she'll hold her own against... whoever she wanted help with. Wasn't it a--"

"I'm gonna cut you off right there, Daenerys," Dean interrupted, arms no longer crossed, a finger pointing accusingly at Sam. "What's up with you? You've always been up and ready to help someone in need, and right now, you really ain't living up to that. An old friend sees a dude decorating a tree like Christmas came early, contacts me about it, asks me to help, me, I say yes," he inhaled sharply through his nostrils. "So we're going," he huffed out, emphasizing the 'going'. "No ifs, no buts, no coconuts."

Sighing, Sam puts both his hands on his knees, standing up. He stretched his arms out for a long few seconds before responding.

"Point taken, but it's a little hard to take you seriously with that last part," Sam snickers, the left side of his mouth twitching up, Dean's twitching down. "No ifs, no buts, no coconuts? What are you, a kindergarten teacher?"

"Shut it, Sam." Dean responded pointedly, punctuated by picking up a room temperature beer from last night from the creaky ass coffee table -- that being followed by him holding up a hand, and putting a finger down for each thing he listed. "Pack up your stuff, take the porno out of the CD player," "I don--" "And zip up that hole in your face you call a mouth."

"Dean. Before we even _consider_ heading all the way to New York, we need to make sure all of the information we have is up to date." Sam motions to his computer. "For all we know, this isn't even the same vengeful spirit. It could just be one following in her footprints. You and me both, we know how many ladies in white there are. This could --"

"No," Dean firmly cuts in, mouth twitching. "This is her. I'm sure of it. And if it isn't, we're still gonna gank it." His fist clenches and unclenches at his side. "Because Alyssa God damn Julius asked for help. And we both know that she NEVER does that, unless she really, actually needs help. So, as said previously, shut your face, and get ready for fifteen hours of beef jerky and RedBull."

Sam groans. "Dean--"

And Dean's out the door, hauling a duffel bag with God-knows-what in it along with him. 

"Oh, man. He _definitely_ had a thing for Alyssa when we were younger." Sam grimaced, grabbing his own belongings, heading after him. He paused after a few steps.

"Now that I'm thinking about it, it's probably not Alyssa. Though, to be fair, she isn't unattractive," Sam thought out loud, lips pursed in unabashed appreciation.

In the distance, he hears a "Hurry up!", followed by the Impala honking. He picks up his pace, lips no longer impersonating a fish, and his entire face lax in disbelief. Since when could Dean convince him to do something so easily? He hopped in the passenger's seat, buckled his seatbelt, and slumped his shoulders in silent acceptance. 

Van Halen's _Panama_ blasted, comparable to a jet engine. Dean exaggeratedly bopped his head to the beat. "Thought a toddler kicked you in the balls again. What kept you?" Dean yelled over the music. Sam winced, his previously tapping foot stuttering to a halt. "Probably the long-lasting memory of a toddler doing... well, that," Sam shouted in response. Dean graces Sam with an expression of sympathy, though not for long, the brothers on the road seconds later.

Sam gave in and grinned lazily, looking out the window and tip-tapping his thigh to the rhythm, distantly paying attention to the cars driving alongside the Impala. God, it really was early.

\--

About ten, fifteen minutes or so into the car ride, a thought crossed his mind. Previously slumped shoulders stiffened, and Sam reached over to turn down the radio, nearly all the way. Dean turned over to look at him, face contorted in confusion.

"What is it?" Dean asked, brows furrowed, making sure to give the road a glance every few seconds.

"You're an idiot, Dean."

Dean looked taken aback. Who wouldn't, though? He just got called an idiot.

"Well?" Dean asked, gesturing for Sam to explain.

"Did you even _think_?" Sam started, followed by an exasperated sigh. "No research? Nothing?" Dean opened his mouth to respond, but Sam continued on. "For all we know, Alyssa's possessed. Did you even see if there were any recent victims around the area?" 

Dean looked to the side. "Well --"

Sam buried his face in his hands. "Dammit, Dean. I mean, we're already on our way there, and even if she is possessed, we can exorcise the demon or something. But that doesn't change the fact that you didn't even check to see if this was legit."

"I care about Alyssa, Sam. I want to _help_ her. I'm not required to geek my ass off whenever I find something to help with, I just need to help! And then it'll be over with, and then I'll be f--"

"No, Dean, then you'll be _dead_ ," Sam countered. "Or worse. Since when do you even _care_ about Alyssa this much? You've made a comment or two about her being hot, sure. But you and I both -- we _know_ that this isn't about her. At least not entirely. So either you tell me, or you don't. Either this case is gonna go smoothly, or it won't. Your call."

Dean turned up the radio.

Sam resisted the urge to punch him.


End file.
